Taking the Plunge Read online

  He placed his hands around her waist, his fingers touching the bare skin of her back, and he stepped closer to her, looking her in the eye. “That’s art, Nancy. It’s revealing your most sacred emotions for the whole world to see. Submitting your painting tonight was very brave.”

  She sniffed then blinked her eyes, keeping the emotion away.

  “It’s good to get it out, Nancy. There’s nothing wrong with being emotional. I’ve cried while making every single one of my paintings.”

  “You have?”

  He nodded. “You should say the same thing to your father when he arrives.”

  “You think I should?”

  “What could be a better time?”

  “You’re right.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and stepped into him, letting her head rest against his chest. He didn’t flinch when she moved toward him. His hand ran down her back gently, his fingers gliding over her smooth skin.

  She pulled away and moved toward her painting, feeling frightened of their profound intimacy. “So, why did you come tonight?”

  “A painting needs to be selected.”

  She smiled. “You think you can sway Mr. Adam’s opinion?”

  He stared at her for a long time, amusement in his eyes. “I might be able to persuade him.”

  “Well, make sure you tell him to pick me.”

  “Why do you want to win?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  He nodded.

  “If I can get my painting in here, people might actually take me seriously. If Mr. Adams thought I was good, then I really must be. I could start my own gallery and sell my own paintings. I wouldn’t have to work at the aquarium.”

  “So you would pursue your dream, not pick the most economically safe major?” he said with a smile.

  “I would definitely take a leap of faith.”

  “And what would you do with the money? Artists make good money. What would you do with it?”

  She shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I would probably buy a small house and use what I needed for bills and groceries, my future children’s tuitions, and give the rest to charity. Or invest it in after school programs for the arts.”

  He nodded. “That sounds admirable.”

  “I definitely wouldn’t be a green-eyed monster like my father.”

  “It’s definitely out of your character.”

  She looked at him, seeing the slight smirk on his lips, then looked away. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Thatcher.”

  “Is that your polite way of getting rid of me?”

  “I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

  “Actually, I do. But I’ll be back.” His hand returned to the small of her back and he leaned toward her ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He stepped away without looking back, pretending that he hadn’t just given her the sweetest compliment she ever heard.

  She stood there, rooted to the spot. No one had ever knocked the wind out of her like that, swept her off her feet. Just a simple touch on her back and an intimate whisper in her ear left her feeling faint and light-headed. She couldn’t believe that just happened. She opened her heart to him, revealing a secret she thought she would never confess, and somehow she felt better, calmer. A weight had been lifted from her chest.

  When she turned to look at him, he was admiring another painting, his arms crossed over his chest and his weight shifted to one leg.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Nancy turned and saw Derek wrap his arms around her, kissing her gently.

  “You look—yowza,” he said as he looked down at her legs. “I hope Mr. Adams is straight.”

  She gave him a weak smile, still floored by Thatcher.

  He caught the look. “Don’t be nervous. You’re doing great.”

  “Damn, you look hot,” Henry said with smile. He made an hour glass shape with his hands.

  Sydney nudged her. “If I were gay, I’d buy you a drink.”

  Coen nodded his head in approval. “I like where this is going.”

  She glared at him while smiling at the same time.

  “Thanks for coming,” Nancy said when she found her voice.

  “We wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Derek said. He turned and looked at her painting. They all stared at it, none of them saying anything.

  “It’s nice,” Derek said with a nod.

  She could tell by the sound of his voice that he was lying. He couldn’t think of something better to say.

  “Wow,” Henry said. “I didn’t know you could paint like that.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “So, is the competition almost over?” Sydney asked.

  Nancy looked at the clock. “It should be.”

  “Did the artist come and talk to you?” Sydney asked.

  “No,” Nancy said. “And I haven’t seen him.”

  “Do you know what he looks like?” Henry asked.

  “Actually, no. I just know he’s a guy. He’s probably old. Artists always seem to be old.”

  Derek placed his hand on her back. “Maybe he already decided to pick you so he didn’t see the point in coming over.”

  She smiled at his encouragement.

  “Is your dad here?” Henry asked as he looked around.

  Her heart fell. “No.” It was already eight. He should have been here an hour ago.

  “Maybe he’s running late,” Sydney said quickly. “I doubt he would want to miss this.”

  Nancy had a pain in her stomach. She wondered if he forgot. She just told him the night before. Surely his memory wasn’t that bad.

  Derek caught the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, baby. He’ll be here. And if he doesn’t show, you got us, your real family.”

  “I know.”

  He kissed her gently then pulled away. “I can’t believe I’m dating the hottest girl in this room.”

  Coen squeezed Sydney. “I don’t think so, man.”

  Henry winked at Nancy. “I think I need to upgrade.”

  Ren glared at him.

  “I’m just kidding,” Henry said as he kissed her on the neck.

  “Wow. Cool painting.”

  “Andre?” Nancy asked.

  “Hey,” he said as he hugged her. “Wow. You look fine, Nancy.”

  She blushed.

  “And that’s saying something coming from a gay man,” Ren said.

  Nancy smiled. “What are you doing here, Andre?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “I had to come. You’re my friend.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  He looked back at the painting. “And you did an awesome job. I’ll have to buy one of your creations.”

  Diane stood on the stage and tapped the microphone. “Thank you everyone for coming tonight. After careful appraisal, Mr. Adams has decided the winner of this year’s gallery competition. The recipient will be featured in his gallery. Help me welcome the man responsible for this event, Mr. Adams.” She clapped as she stepped away from the microphone.

  A man walked up the stage, wearing a vest and slacks. When he turned around and faced the crowd, Nancy felt her heart drop from her chest, into her stomach, then out her body. Her mouth gaped open, practically drooling.

  “Oh my fucking god.”

  Derek looked at her. “What?”

  She ignored him.

  He smiled at the crowd, his perfect grin shining bright even from the front of the room. Seeing his full body view showed the broadness of his shoulders, the expansion of his chest, and the tightness of his ass. A few of the girls in the audience smiled at him, waving from their positions in the room.

  “Thank you for the wonderful evening everyone. This competition was not easy. I was only allowed to choose twenty submissions for the contest and that was difficult. They were all beautiful and worthy of recognition. Then choosing just a single painting was even harder. The greatest joy about this night was getting to know the artists and the meaning behind the
ir paintings. It’s been an honor and a joy to work with all of you.” The crowd clapped while Nancy stood there, her mouth gaping open.

  “So, now it’s time to select the winner. I know you’re all eagerly waiting.” He cleared his throat. “The painting that I chose immediately spoke to me the moment I set my eyes on it. I stared at it for minutes and still saw something new. The emotion of the piece immediately went to my heart. The colors, the brushwork, the steady hand that created the masterpiece all impacted me, moved me. Nancy Erikson, you are this year’s winner.”

  Nancy covered her mouth, trying not to scream.

  Sydney jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I knew you would win!”

  Henry hugged her and lifted her from the ground. “Congratulations.”

  “Congrats, baby,” Derek said as he smiled at her.

  Coen patted her on the shoulder. “Badass.”

  Thatcher looked at her from the stage, a smile on his lips. “Nancy, please join me on the stage.”

  “Go!” Sydney said, giving her a gentle push.

  Nancy walked across the room, feeling her mind float out of her body. She kept her back straight and her shoulders back, trying to keep her posture right. Her heart was beating a hundred times a minute. The blood pounded in her ears.

  Thatcher came to the steps and extended his hand to her, his eyes glued to her face. She took it, feeling the electricity shoot through her arm as soon as they touched. His hand moved to her lower back as he directed her to the stage. He picked up an award and handed it to her. “Congratulations.”

  She smiled at him, feeling her body go numb. “Thank you.”

  Everyone clapped as she held her award.

  “I’m very honored to feature you in my gallery.”

  “I can’t believe you picked me,” she blurted.

  The crowd laughed at her words.

  He leaned toward her ear, his lips pressed against her skin. “There was no comparison, Nancy.” He pulled away then smiled at her. Everyone in the room disappeared. It was just she and Thatcher. His blue eyes shined brighter than the lights overhead and his smile was the most beautiful grin she had ever seen. A more beautiful man she had never known.

  She turned and left the stage, Thatcher’s gaze drilling into her back, and returned to her corner, hearing everyone congratulate her and cheer for her.

  “Congratulations!” Shelly said as she ran over. “And you almost didn’t even submit your work.”

  “I know,” Nancy said with a smile. “I can’t believe it either.”

  She hugged Nancy. “You deserve it, girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shelly walked away, leaving Nancy with her friends. Nancy looked around the room and didn’t see the one face she wanted to see more than anyone else. She released a depressed sigh, wishing her father was here to share this moment. It could have changed everything, reminded him of what they lost. Now she knew he was too far gone. She didn’t have a mother or a father. It was inevitable.

  “Let’s go out and celebrate,” Derek said. “Wherever Nancy wants to go.”

  Nancy smiled, trying to pretend she was fine. “I still have to clean up and arrange all the details. Could we take a rain check?”

  “We don’t mind waiting for you,” Derek said.

  “I know,” she said quickly. “Can we meet in an hour or two?”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I’m just overwhelmed,” she said quickly.

  “Let’s give her some space, guys,” Sydney said. “Call us when you’re ready to go out.”

  “Okay,” Sydney said.

  Derek hugged her then kissed her hard on the mouth. “Good job, baby.”

  “Thank you.”

  They turned and left the room, giving her the space to release the breath she was holding. She turned back to her painting and stared at it, seeing a past that was long gone, a dream that was never a reality. The other contestants gathered their paintings and walked out with their families, their mothers hugging them and their fathers patting them on the back. Nancy stayed in front of her painting, feeling more alone than she ever felt.

  “I thought you wanted to win?”

  She turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Mr. Adams?”

  “I did. I don’t go by my last name. I prefer Thatcher. Mr. Adams makes me sound old and wrinkly.”

  “But, you still didn’t tell me.”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to make it interesting.”

  She stared at him for a long time before she looked back at her painting.

  He came to her and placed his arms around her waist, standing in front of her painting so he had to meet his gaze. “Don’t let him get you down. You deserve this moment of happiness, not a future memory of sorrow.”

  Nancy was surprised he could read her mind so easily. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for it. I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You can’t lie to me, Nancy. Your eyes are canvases that convey your every mood and feeling. I can see the colors, the shadows, the lines, and the darkness that sits in your heart.”

  She said nothing, not sure how to respond to such poetic words.

  He pulled her closer to him and pressed his forehead against hers. The intimate touch didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. It felt strangely right, real. His hands rested on her back, slightly moving up and down. He looked into her eyes, not ashamed of being so forward and intimate with her. Nancy kept her eyes glued to his lips.

  “Nancy, look at me.”

  She obeyed and looked into his blue eyes.

  “Now what do you see?”

  Her hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt.

  “I see sadness, darkness, desire, heat, emotion, fear.”

  “You’re a true artist.” He rubbed his nose against hers, making her heart slow in time. She felt calm but nervous. She shouldn’t feel this way, feel this attraction for him. The calmness made her feel worse. She shouldn’t be enjoying this embrace so much.

  “Please don’t kiss me,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  She pulled away. “I have a boyfriend.”

  He dropped his hands and put them in his pockets. “I know.”

  “You know?” she asked, stepping back.

  “And I also know he’s a total jerk. He’s no good for you.”

  “How do you now Derek?”

  “I don’t. And I don’t want to know him.”

  She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear.

  “I don’t go for girls that are in relationships. It’s not my style. But you’re different.”

  “How?”

  “When you know, you know, Nancy. And you aren’t happy with that guy.”

  “How do you know?”

  He stepped closer to her. “Then tell me yourself. Are you happy with him?”

  She averted her gaze.

  “Look at me so I can see your eyes.”

  She obeyed his command.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I—I should go.”

  He grabbed her arm, steadying her. “Please don’t run from me. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

  She didn’t move, feeling his hand touch her skin.

  He closed the gap between them then wrapped his arms around her again. “Please be here at ten tomorrow morning.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to officially get your painting in the gallery. I want you to see it yourself. Believe me, it’ll make your spine shiver.”

  She already felt her body shake under his touch.

  He dropped his hand then pulled out his wallet, handing her a card. “This is the number to the office.” He flipped it over then scribbled a phone number on it. “And that’s my cell phone number. You’re welcome to call me whenever you want, even if it’s just to talk.”

  She took it and held it in her fingertips.
r />   He stared at her for a long time, his eyes staring at every inch of her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nancy.”

  “Good night, Mr. Adams.”

  “It’s Thatcher.” He turned and walked away, leaving her weak in the knees.

  12

  Her father wasn’t home when she returned to the house. He was obviously staying at the other beach house, entertaining his one of his girlfriends. She never had the dishonor of meeting them. They were just after his money, Nancy was sure. That was why he would never remarry.

  Her friends wanted to go out but she made an excuse. She didn’t feel like celebrating, not when she was this confused and depressed. Thatcher wasn’t who she expected him to be. If she had known he and Mr. Adams were the same person, she would have behaved much differently.

  And the attraction between them confused her even more. It wasn’t just physical, but intimate in a different way. She felt like her body had no covering, that he could see right through her, through the skin, the muscle, the bone—everything. He understood her in a way no one else ever had. He looked at her painting once and new exactly what it was. It was natural, unforced. It was real.

  But she was with Derek and he was finally getting his act together. He had been an asshole to her for so long, breaking her heart over and over, but now everything was how it should be. Derek treated her right, said the right things. And she said she would work it out with him. If she just ran off with some other guy, it would hurt him. And Derek wasn’t just her boyfriend, he was her friend.

  The stress weighed on her so we she went to her balcony and resorted to the only therapy she had. She started to paint, gliding her brush across the canvas as the paint dripped on the blank page. When she was in the moment, she didn’t think about anything else, just channeling her emotions in the art. When she was done, she sighed in misery. It was a picture of Thatcher. His eyes were the center of focus, the irises reflecting her own eyes. She stared at it, realizing what she had done. She couldn’t get the man out of her head. He was stuck there.

  Exhausted from the day, she fell into bed, her unconscious mind consumed by the image of Thatcher’s eyes, blue and unyielding. His hand was on her lower back, touching her cold skin with his warm hand. When she felt his chest next to her, she felt the connection that formed between them, the connection that had been there since the moment they crossed paths. She couldn’t get away from him. A part of her didn’t want to.